


Better Now?

by CaptainEdgarOfTheHole



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainEdgarOfTheHole/pseuds/CaptainEdgarOfTheHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons is panicking about being a captain and Grif helps in his own Grif-like way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Now?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IStalkMyFandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IStalkMyFandoms/gifts).



> It's been a long time since I wrote something so I'm very sorry for any mistakes and the slight overuse of the comma.

It was too much.

Being a captain, missing his friends, leading people he could barely talk to. They weren’t ready for something like this! They weren’t real soldiers that way! They weren’t heroes like the rebels thought! They were just idiots who spent the majority of their time bickering with anyone they could!

How were they supposed to lead a military operation without Wash or Carolina, or Hell even Sarge. None of them knew how to do this. Tucker seemed to only be keeping things together due to his determination to see Wash and punch him in the face for that dick move at the cave, Grif was just trying to pretend nothing was wrong and instead focusing all his attention on stupid things just to keep himself distracted, and Caboose… well Caboose was pretty much the same emotionally fragile idiotic time bomb. But Simmons, he had no coping mechanism for this. He dealt with shitty situations by blindly following and kissing the ass of whoever was in charge so that he didn’t have to think about things anymore, just follow orders and not die. Now though, he was the person in charge and the only order he had was to train his troops and be ready to get their friends back.

They were the worst orders ever! Of all time! And that is saying something because he’s been following Sarge’s orders for years now. They were just so broad. Train the troops, how the fuck does he do that? How the fuck would he know how to train someone he barely has any training himself! And then there is the second order, be ready. How are they supposed to know when that is? When they can defeat one annoying merch? Is that really going to determine if they can save their friends?

There were too many questions that just added to the questions he was already trying not to think about. Like are their friends even alive? Can they trust the intel saying they are? What kind of torture are they being subjected to? What happens to them if Tucker, Grif, Caboose, and himself don’t succeed in the rescue?

So many questions and he just wants them all to stop. He wants to be told to go count the food stores, fix the jeep, clean the base, yell abuse at the blues, yell abuse at Grif. Just any order that he could just focus on to make the questions stop.

He had even gone to Kimball today, found her brooding in her weird glowy cave, to ask if there was anything at all he could do around the base but she had just reminded him that he needed to be with his troops training and that others could handle the day to day chores.

So now he was here, curled up in the corner of his room as small as he can, trying desperately to take a deep breath. He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard. Breathing isn’t supposed to be so hard!

He knows in the logical side of his brain that he needs to stop panicking, that if he can just stop panicking then he will be able to breathe again.

Only the logical side of his brain isn’t in charge right now.

Simmons grips tightly at his hair, his metal arm almost threatening to rip it right from his scalp, as he rocks back and forth, trying desperately to breathe. He is so consumed by this seemingly impossible task that he doesn’t notice someone else in the room until said person kicks him firmly in the side.

Simmons sucks in a pained gasp “What the fuck Grif!?”

“What?” The orange prick asks innocently

“What do you mean what! You kicked me! What the hell is wrong with you?” Simmons quickly gets to his feet just as Grif flops down on the bed “Don’t lay there you idiot! that not your bed! What are you even doing here?”

“You should lay down too” Grif comments shuffling over on the bed to make room.

Simmons just stares at him incredulous.

“Come on” Grif urges patting the open spot on the bed.

Simmons slowly starts towards the bed crawling in next to Grif who immediately pulls the covers over the two of them. The maroon soldier was so confused, one second he is having a panic attack, then he is being kicked in the side with no explanation and now he’s being told to get into bed with the same person who kicked him! And for some reason he’s doing it! Grif shuffles in the bed so that he is now on his side facing Simmons before he throws one of his arms over the confused soldiers waist and pulls him closer.

“What are you doing?” Simmons whispers weirdly hesitant to break the quiet.

“Making you sleep” Grif replies

“Why?”

“Cause panic attacks are tiring”

“Wait so if you knew I was having a panic attack why the fuck did you kick me?”

“Well you’re not having one any more now are you?” Simmons thought for a second frowning.

“No I guess not… you still didn’t have to kick me though!” Grif just laughs at that tucking Simmons impossibly closer to himself. Simmons wanted to protest Grif manhandling him like this but it was actually rather nice, not that he would ever admit that to the lazy prick.

“Sleep Simmons” Grif says and Simmons can see no reason at all not to obey the order.

 

….

 

Simmons wakes hours later with a groan. He had tried to roll over and a sharp pain had radiated down his side. Grif is still next to him fast asleep, snoring loudly, one arm draped over Simmons’ hip. He pulls the covers away and pushes at the snoring man’s arm to inspect where the pain in his side was. Pulling up his shirt he revealed a big black bruise covering the whole right side of his stomach. His sleep hazy brain takes a second to realise what had caused the injury.

“Grif! You stupid lazy fuck!” He yells shoving at the sleeping man. Grif jolts awake confused by the rude awakening. Confusion turns to anger as Simmons yanks the pillow from under his head and begins whacking him with it.

“Ow! Hey, ah ow! What the fu- Simmons!” Grif shouts as he flails around trying to grab Simmons arm to stop the attack.

“Look what you did to my stomach dickhead!” he shouts back as he whacks Grif once more in the face before dropping the pillow. Grif is about to grab the abandoned weapon and return the favour when he actually spots what Simmons was ranting about.

“Holy shit dude! What the fuck happened?” he asks yanking Simmons shirt up higher to properly see the damage.

“You happened dickhead! I told you, you shouldn’t have kicked me! Look at what you did!”

“But- But how is that even possible? You’re all robot and shit”

“Cyborg” Simmons corrects, causing Grif to roll his eyes “and it’s not blood like a normal bruise but you probably just broke something and now I’m leaking oil into my side!”

Grif just looks at Simmons unsure and more than a little confused.

“Are you sur- “

“No I’m not sure! How the fuck should I know! But whatever is wrong it your fault!” The orange soldier sighs before sitting up properly and wrapping his arms around Simmons’ waist, tugging him till the cyborg is basically straddling his waist. Once Simmons is situated comfortably on top of him Grif places one hand on the back of Simmons’ neck and pulls him down into a slow kiss.

Simmons goes tense for a moment before responding. It’s not the first time they’ve done this not by a long shot, but other times the kissing is usually rough and brought on by frustration or extreme boredom. This kiss however is soft, comforting and a hundred times better than any of their other kisses. The two eventually break apart to breathe but the hand on Simmons neck doesn’t allow him to go far (not that he particularly wants to).

“Feeling better now?” Grif asks and Simmons knows he isn’t talking about his injured side. He thinks about it a minute before nodding. Now that he was rested and with Grif the questions that had been cycling in his head for days had calmed down some. That’s no to say that he wasn’t still insanely worried but now that he was calmer and could think more clearly he was not as panicked about having to answer them. Simmons smiles at Grif pecking him once before responding

“Yeah feeling much better”

“Good” Grif replies before he lifts Simmons and unceremoniously dump him on the floor.

“Ow! Hey!”

“Go to the medical bay or engineering so they can fix your side” He mumbles as he snuggles back down into the bed “I’m going back to sleep”

Simmons stands brushing imaginary dust off his pants glaring at the annoying lump on the bed.

“You’re such an ass” Simmons says stomping over to his armour beginning to yank it on piece by piece.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too Simmons” Grif calls from his position curled up comfortably on the bed, watching as Simmons responds by giving him the finger after he has put on all his armour but his helmet. The rude gesture is slightly undermined though by the soft happy grin on the maroon soldiers face and the fact that he stops for one last kiss before leaving the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I lost all the progress on my orange and aqua series a while ago when my laptop died and haven't been motivated to write this ship since but this prompt has been sitting unanswered in my inbox for ages and though its very late I thought they deserved their fic


End file.
